


Any Way, Every Way

by arquadia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, College AU, F/M, Grounder Bellamy, High School AU, Hurt Bellamy, Hurt Clarke, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Relationship(s), Some Fluff, Some Humor, Some angst, Whump, Work In Progress, flynnrider!bellamy, im posting random shit, lots and lots this will be compounded stuff, possible historical au, rapunzel!clarke, some au's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arquadia/pseuds/arquadia
Summary: Collection of Bellarke one-shots because they are my OTP."I'm gonna go, Octavia. I'll see you in the morning?"Clarke asked. Octavia nodded sleepily and Clarke turned off the lights as they shuffled out of the dorm. Thank god Octavia's roommate had dropped out- homesickness, apparently- or they might have had more trouble getting her home. Bellamy sighed. In the fluorescent light of the dorm hallway, he could see Clarke's face properly. His gaze softened and he allowed himself to really look at her: blonde hair framing a sharply cut face and even more dangerous-looking blue eyes. Her strong chin melted into a neck and a body that rolled in and out of curves with ease. Bellamy shook his head. Was he checking out his little sister's friend?"You good to go from here?" He broke the awkward silence."Yeah, I'm number 33." She started down the hall, but turned around- with what he could almost believe was a hint of a blush.





	1. Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of Bellarke one-shots. some will be longer than others. Some might be like, whole fic-length and some might be really short. Some fluffy, some angsty. Hope you find one you enjoy! Oh and by the way, this is a work in progress. Will update as often/regularly as I can. <3

Bellamy Blake wasn't the type to join a frat. In fact, he wasn't even the type to go to a frat party- but the free housing couldn't be overlooked. So he pledged and partied only as much as was necessary, and beyond that kept to himself. Unfortunately, living in a frat house meant only so much could be avoided.

Bellamy was cursing his life choices as he stumbled down the stairs, past far-too-drunk clumps of his peers, needing a bowl of cereal and a coffee in order to finish reading the assigned chapters for his Greek and Roman History course. He was trying to breathe through his mouth as he passed the bathroom- covered in several different colors of vomit at only midnight- when he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. Forgetting the pungent barf smell to his left, Bellamy whipped around.

"Octavia?" Bellamy didn't have a particularly deep voice, but the gravelly undertones cut through the stupor of the room with ease. The brunette turned slowly, her face a mixture of annoyance, guilt, and pure drunkenness. Bellamy's eyes zeroed in on the red solo cup currently clutched in her freckled hand and he was across the room in seconds.

"Bell- I can explain, I-" The guys who had been chatting with Octavia made a hasty exit upon getting a close-up of Bellamy's frame and the Greek letters on his shirt. Octavia slurred and wobbled.

"O, what the fuck are you doing here? You know these parties are bad news. And what are you doing-" he snatched the cup from her hand, his skilled nose detecting a rum and coke- "drinking? Did you really think I wouldn't be here? How did a freshman even get in with-" Bellamy was cut off by a high pitched, angry shriek that might even have matched his skill for dispersing a crowd.  
  
"Octavia!" Bellamy barely had time to appraise the blonde before she was upon them- all he could see was a flash of golden hair and sharp cheekbones. "Christ, Octavia, I told you not to leave me alone out here- and who is this?" The blonde noticed poked a finger into Bellamy's chest. "Unfortunately, my friend's a little too drunk to go home with you tonight. Sorry." The strange girl was brushing hair out of Octavia's eyes and straightening her skirt for a few long, shocked seconds before Octavia started giggling.

  
"Clarke- this is my- you thought he was?" She continued drunkenly laugh hiccuping as the girl- Clarke, apparently- watched in confusion. Octavia pointed to Bellamy, who couldn't think of anything to say. "This is my brother." Bellamy grimaced, scrubbing a hand across the hair at the back of his neck. Clarke straightened, blushing.

  
"You never told me you had a brother." Octavia giggled again.

  
"That's 'cause he's no fun!" She reached for another red cup but was stopped.

  
"Well, nice to meet you, Bellamy. Sorry about the- confusion." Clarke glanced to the Sigma Kappa Phi logo on his shirt with just a pinch of distaste. "Enjoy your party. I'll get her home." Bellamy got his senses back just as Octavia paled and bent over.

  
"I'm- I'm gonna barf, I-" Bellamy wasted no time, shepherding Octavia and Clarke into the poorly ventilated bathroom and quickly helping his sister to her knees. He held her hair back as she vomited, tears mixing with her mascara. Clarke closed the door and cursed under her breath.

  
"Damn, you really are her brother." Clarke pulled a hair tie off her wrist and tied back the brunette's hair. Bellamy's brow stayed furrowed.  
"Cute." He smiled, tight-lipped. "This brings me back to when she got the stomach bug in third grade. Worst case of a 24-hour-bug I've ever seen." Clarke scoffed jokingly.

  
"I used to wait in the ER for my mom's shift to end, so I've seen some similar situations." She flushed the toilet and the contents of Octavia's stomach. "Vomit doesn't faze me anymore." Octavia giggled and finally spoke up.

  
"Good, 'cause it's not even one o'clock yet. Let's have some fun, Clarke!" With that declaration, Octavia busted back out the door and squeezed into the crowd.

\-------------

It took the pair of searchers nearly five long, bass-boosted minutes to find Octavia. She had settled into the corner of a beer-stained couch and was playing a game with some other partygoers. She had found another red solo cup, which Bellamy promptly confiscated.

  
"Let's go, Octavia." Clarke started lifting her friend, but Octavia pouted, going limp.

  
"Lemme just finish the round. Then we can go, I promise," Octavia drawled, dragging out the last word. Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd never been the type to submit to temper tantrums, but one round couldn't be forever. He'd satisfy his sister and then bring her back home.

  
"Fine. What were we playing?" Hogan, a senior Sigma Kappa Phi member, obliged.

  
"Truth or dare."

  
"What is this, tenth grade?" Bellamy moved to hoist his sister away.

  
"It's the drinking game version. If you refuse a truth, you take a shot. If you refuse a dare, you take three shots." Octavia giggled and clapped her hands. "But everybody does the dares. Three shots don't go down so easy, obviously." Octavia giggled again. "Pour your sister a drink." Bellamy handed Octavia some cranberry juice- she was probably out of it enough not to be able to tell the difference. Clarke settled next to her drunk friend, sighing and opening a beer bottle.

  
"Fine. One round," Bellamy answered. He gave Clarke a tight look as he heard the familiar hiss and clink of her bottle opening. "Hey. How old are you?" Clarke rolled her eyes.

  
"Octavia can tell you in the morning. And I'm not trying to get drunk, don't worry." Bellamy would have had some choice words for her, but a weedy sophomore piped up from across the circle. He had headphones around his neck, but for a second, Bellamy thought they were goggles.

  
"Ok, uh, Maya. Truth or dare." the boy looked to a mousy girl on his left with something more than friendship in his eyes.

  
"Truth."

  
"Are you a virgin?" The girl blushed and Bellamy groaned internally. How long was one round?

  
"Hate to be the prude in the room, but- yeah." She chuckled nervously. The way goggles was looking at her, she might not be a virgin for long.

\-------------

The 'round' progressed slowly. Apparently, a round lasted until someone had taken ten shots, though they didn't usually go that long. As the Smirnoff slowly emptied, the question askers got drunker and the questions and dares got more invasive. One guy had to lick another guy's nipples. One guy was dared to remove a girl's bra with his teeth (he couldn't). Octavia wasn't asked or dared anything, thank god. By then much of the room as playing, and suddenly it was some emo girl's turn.

  
"Truth or Dare," she twisted her nose ring, "Bellamy Blake." The girl focused her eyes on him and he stiffened. Most people weren't too aware of his presence, but he vaguely remembered taking this girl back to his room once. Christ. Had she been here all night? Way to set an example for his sister. A small hush closed over the players as they looked to him.

  
"Truth." He could tell it was the wrong choice by the girl's face. Now he remembered taking her back to his room. Now he could see she was bitter about being kicked out in the morning.

  
"Alright. Is the rumor true?" She flipped a sheath of black hair over her shoulder as Bellamy's brow creased. _'The rumor'?_ That could be many things.

  
"You'll have to be more specific."

  
"Is it true your parents are dead?" Now the room was really quiet. The breath was knocked out of Bellamy's chest. If he took the shot, that'd be admitting it. But he didn't want to explain.

  
"Pour me one." Unfortunately, Octavia had always been the talker of the family.

  
"Ugh, what a waste of vodka," she whined, turning to the emo girl. "And what a waste of a question." Octavia let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and something darker. "Who gives a fuck about anybody's parents?" She snatched the bottle and managed to get in a long swig before Bellamy ripped it away from her. "This is college. We're here to escape our parents, aren't we?" Clarke scoffed, and Bellamy was all at once reminded of her presence. Unfortunately, everyone else in the circle was, too. Wallace, a pure asshole of a junior, piped up from the corner of the room.

  
"Okay, no answer to that. How 'bout you, blondie? Truth or dare?" Clarke narrowed her eyes at Wallace.

  
"I'm not playing."

  
"Everybody's playing. And your feisty friend doesn't want to go home yet, does she?" He used his Heineken to gesture to Octavia. Clarke raised an eyebrow and sipped her beer.

  
"Fine. Dare." Wallace grinned evilly.

  
"Make out with me." Clarke flinched, but Bellamy beat her to a retort.

  
"That's against the rules. The dare can't involve you." The room murmured agreement. "Also, fuck off, Wallace." Bellamy wasn't shy to call out his frat brothers, a fact that didn't get him so far socially.

  
"Fine, O Chivalrous Bellamy." Wallace held something poisonous behind his tongue. "Oh, Rapunzel?-" he batted his eyelashes mockingly at Clarke- "If you won't kiss me, why not your knight in shining armor?" He gulped his beer and pointed to Bellamy.

  
"What?" Bellamy hoped he wasn't blushing. He had just met this girl, and god knows how old she was, and sure she was hot, but- shit.

  
"Come on, Wallace." Clarke groaned. "I can't do three shots this late. I have to get home."

  
"You don't have to take three shots. Just do the dare." Clarke rolled her eyes as Octavia drunkenly giggled. Bellamy shut up his sister with a sharp glare.

  
"You don't have to do this, I don't care if you-" Bellamy interjected, but Clarke cut him off with another eye roll. Bellamy wondered for a moment if it was to hide a blush of her own.

  
"Ugh. Whatever." Clarke raised an eyebrow, asking, and Bellamy shrugged. He might regret this later, but it would be just one kiss. And even before he could preemptively inhale, she yanked his collar and pressed her lips to his. It was quick and close-mouthed, but her sweet lip balm burned him where it touched. If she hadn't pulled away, he might have been liable to keep going. Clarke turned back to the crowd. "Round over."

\-------------

Bellamy sat there for three long, stupid seconds before he became aware of his surroundings. Clarke was hauling Octavia to the door. He sprung up to help her.

  
"Christ, sorry- here, let me-" Clarke turned around, struggling to hold up most of Octavia's dead weight.

  
"I think it's time to go. Thanks for having us, and enjoy your party." Clarke said it with a pinch of distaste and Bellamy remembered his Sigma Kappa Phi shirt. He probably looked like such an asshole, throwing this party and letting his sister get drunk. Still, it took him a few seconds to gather himself.

  
"Wait- sorry- this isn't my party." Clarke turned, raising an eyebrow. "I can explain later. Let me help you get her back to your dorm." He eased another arm under Octavia, who protested as he all but carried her. Clarke shucked her heels with a sigh as they exited the frat.

  
"So, you are Sigma Kappa Phi, and you live in that house, but that wasn't your party?" Clarke finally asked. The just-turned-October air pulled the hair on her arms to attention and the concrete was cold under her feet. Apparently, they weren't going to talk about the kiss. Fine by him.

  
"It's, uh, it's complicated. But I was actually chewing out this one-" he gestured to Octavia, who was almost completely passed out- "for drinking when you showed up." Clarke chuckled.

  
"I promise the vodka wasn't part of my plan." She rubbed her shoulders in the cold and Bellamy wondered if he should offer his jacket. He had just kissed her, after all.

  
"I'm sure. Recklessness suits my sister well." He steadied Octavia. "Are you two in the same dorm?"

  
"Yeah, I'm down the hall from her. I'm surprised she never mentioned an older brother," Clarke said.

  
"So you are a freshman?" Bellamy winced and Clarke chuckled lowly. "Shit. Anyways, she made me promise to leave her alone for the first semester- so she could make her own friends." He rolled his eyes jokingly. "Something about me being overprotective." Clarke gave him a pointed grin, jutting her chin at Octavia, now clasped in Bellamy's arms and curling into his sweatshirt.

\-------------

After much stumbling and protesting, they reached the third floor. Unfortunately, Octavia had woken up. Bellamy was almost out of breath.

  
"Christ, O, you're easier to deal with when you're passed out," he huffed. She giggled and rummaged for her key. Clarke pulled it from the drunk girl's back pocket and swiped it, opening the door. The trio entered the room and Bellamy set up Octavia with a glass of water and some tylenol. He was hoping she hadn't been drunk too many times before, so maybe this hangover would be a lesson.

  
"I'm gonna go, Octavia. I'll see you in the morning?" Clarke asked. Octavia nodded sleepily and Clarke turned off the lights as they shuffled out of the dorm. Thank god Octavia's roommate had dropped out- homesickness, apparently- or they might have had more trouble getting her home. Bellamy sighed. In the fluorescent light of the dorm hallway, he could see Clarke's face properly. His gaze softened and he allowed himself to really look at her: blonde hair framing a sharply cut face and even more dangerous-looking blue eyes. Her strong chin melted into a neck and a body that rolled in and out of curves with ease. Bellamy shook his head. Was he checking out his little sister's friend?

  
"You good to go from here?" He broke the awkward silence.

  
"Yeah, I'm number 33." She started down the hall, but turned around- with what he could almost believe was a hint of a blush. "Oh, and Bellamy- sorry about the truth or dare situation earlier. I assumed it was better than you having to drag two drunk girls back here."

  
"Yeah, that'd look shady. Nah, it was- no problem." Clarke bit her lip, an almost small enough action for him to miss. But it just made him remember.

 

"But I might be by in the morning to check on her, so- I'll see you then?" Clarke nodded, slipping into her dorm room.

  
"Guess you will."


	2. blood, blood, blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lil whump

Blood. More and more blood. Since the dropship touched Earth for the first time, Clarke had been constantly bloodstained. She'd gotten used to it in arterial spray, dried in the creases of a face, dribbling from a chin or lazily dabbled on a henley shirt. But now it was Bellamy's blood, Bellamy's life draining faster and faster. Clarke's hands worked frantically and with a mind of their own, but she could feel herself unraveling behind them. Her breath dragged itself up and out of her with broken fingernails.

  
"Bellamy- Bellamy- listen to me, Bellamy- you've got to-" She scrambled for the tourniquet in her med kit- "come on, Bellamy, stay with me, please, Bellamy, keep your eyes open-" she could no longer feel her fingers. She saw him slipping into and out of consciousness.

  
"C-C- I'm gonna- Clarke-" He was fighting. He was trying. She held onto this tiny piece of hope as she tied the tourniquet tighter and tighter. A flicker of helplessness passed over Bellamy's face-- an emotion Clarke realized she may have never seen in him before.

  
"Bellamy, please, please hold on- you gotta keep fighting- I've got to-" Her head shuddered with each heartbeat as she heaved him onto the sledge. "I'm getting you away from here, we're going back to Arkadia, you're going to be fine, I promise, I'm here-" She began to pant as she hefted the weight over her shoulder, pulling with absolutely every muscle in her body. "Bellamy- we've- we're-" Bellamy gasped in pain as they slid over a rock. And with his gasp, something fizzled out inside of Clarke. Desperation chloroformed her from the inside out. She became the trees, the ice, the land, the air itself, throwing all her consciousness into her muscles. "Hold on, Bellamy."

Bellamy was still bleeding when they reached Arkadia. She had stripped down to a shirt and underwear to wrap her clothes around him, trying to prevent the shock from progressing. Miles ago she had stopped feeling the jolt of the ground under her feet and the ache of her shoulders. Some force of instinct had taken hold of her nervous system; for that time in the woods, she had thought nothing.

She hadn't realized the extent of her fatigue until she crossed the Arkadia gate: the shouts of the guards and her own pain hit her body like an electrified baton. Suddenly, people were everywhere. Crowding her, touching her, touching _Bellamy_ \- everywhere. The pain started in her feet and crawled up to her chest, cramps suffocating her muscles as she toppled to the ground, vaguely aware of her voice calling for help. The last thing she saw before she fell unconscious was Bellamy's body, paler than ever, still deflating. The last thing she thought was that if he wasn't going to wake up, she didn't want to either.


	3. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sick!Clarke whump

Clarke hadn't been feeling well. It was nothing new, but lately, it felt as if the fog wrapping around her brain wasn't lifting. She chalked it up to the onset of winter, or something. She kept working. She kept leading. After all, her job was to look after other people, not fuss over herself. She'd be fine.

Clarke was finally sleeping, _finally_ \-- lately it had been taking her hours to force her body into submission-- and her mind was just entering its first REM cycle of the last few days when Monty burst into her tent. She was up in a half second and into the dropship in ten. Before a minute had passed, she was applying pressure to the wound and readying a suture kit. She was five stitches in when the room began to sway.

  
"Hot water _now_ , Monty!" She yelled back, ordering the world in front of her to stop doubling and tripling. Her brain did not oblige. She pushed the needle in at the side of the nearly-arterial gash. Just this one kid and she'd get a nap, then she could start refreshed tomorrow.

  
"Here, Clarke." Monty appeared at her side and a wave of nausea rolled up from her stomach as she turned her head. She swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry.

  
"Okay- okay- clean away the dried blood on the left and put pressure where I haven't stitched yet," she said. He placed his hands over the wound and the patient groaned. She pulled the needle through and begged her body to continue, just wait until she finished this one task and she would give it rest. She turned to get tweezers-- gravel's a bitch-- and found her depth perception thrown with every blink. A droplet of sweat fell between her shoulder blades and landed at the base of her spine. She took a breath, stepping with one foot at a time, concentrating.

  
"You good, Clarke?" Monty asked. His voice vibrated in the back of her mind. She tried to respond as she reached for the med kit, but her mouth was sandy and her tongue felt as if it was about to fall out of her skull. "Clarke?" Her brain, that one organ that had never failed her before, began to trip over itself. She fumbled for the tweezers but her fingers were all wrong, all tangled. Another deeper voice cut through the air.

  
"Clarke?" _Bellamy_. She knew without looking up, but she tried anyway. "You don't look too good." The tiniest movement of her head sent another wave of nausea coursing up her throat. Her eyes could barely fasten on his image, that sun-drenched skin, those freckles she had been thinking about too much lately-- her lips opened and closed helplessly as she tried to call out to him, to say she was fine, she just needed to-- she needed to--  
"Whoa- Clarke-" Bellamy darted forward at the exact moment her eyes rolled backward and her body fell. He caught her just before she hit the floor, already shouting for Monty to help. The blackness she'd been holding off for so long dropped over her mind.

 

The first thing Bellamy noticed was the heat of her skin. She was on fire. 

"Monty, what's wrong with her?" He was shocked by the panic in his own voice. He hoisted her up into his arms, her body dangerously limp.

  
"I don't know, I didn't know she was-- she never mentioned--" The kid Clarke had been stitching up groaned from the table. Monty wiped his forehead. "Bellamy, I have to finish this. Lay her down over there and do exactly what I say." Bellamy hurried to the other bed, carefully laying Clarke down and supporting her head. He pushed the hair out of her face and tucked it over her shoulder. Monty's fingers flashed around the kid's wound as he hurried.

  
"What do I do, Monty?" Bellamy felt a prick of panic at the back of his neck as he noticed the blush overtaking Clarke's body. "Monty, she's burning up. What do I do?" Monty nodded frantically.

  
"Get cold water. And find your sister." Bellamy ran outside, hauling a bucket of collected rain back into the med bay. He climbed the ladder and shouted to Octavia, feeling his fingers shake on the bars. Monty wasn't even halfway done with the stitches, and Bellamy wished, selfishly, that he would abandon Mbege's leg and come help. Bellamy was no doctor.

"Okay, uh-- take off her outer layers but get blankets over her, and put wet cloths on her pulse points." Octavia appeared beside him and helped him to lift Clarke up, tearing off her jacket and boots and leaving her in a sweat-soaked tank top. Octavia found clean blankets, tucking them around Clarke's body, as Bellamy wet some rags and wrapped them around her wrists. As soon as he draped one around her neck, she gasped.

  
"Clarke?" Bellamy crouched next to her, brushing her hair back again.

  
"Hey, you're sick, you need to-"

  
"I'm- I'm so hot-" her eyes rolled back for a moment as she tried to shrug off the blankets. Monty looked up sharply.

  
"Keep her covered, Bellamy!" Clarke's movements became frantic and the purple beneath her eyes stood out against her pale skin.

  
"Clarke- you have to lie down, you have to keep these on." Bellamy pulled the blankets back up to her shoulders as she groaned, shifting weakly.

  
"No Bellamy- please, I'm so hot-" Bellamy pressed a cold cloth to her forehead.

  
"You have a fever, Clarke. You need to stay still." He fought to keep the desperation from his voice. The Clarke he knew, the powerhouse of the camp, always quick with a comeback and a counterargument, seemed dwarfed by the blankets and drowned in her own heat. Her eyes were sinking into her skull and her breaths were weak. She began to cough-- quietly at first and then with more force, shaking her whole body. Bellamy held back her hair and helped her to sit up, each convulsion rattling his own body as much as it did hers. A thin spray of blood fell from her lips. Monty's eyes widened as he tied off the last stitch of the boy on the table.

  
"Octavia, get Mbege out of here. Now. Bellamy, you go too." Monty went quickly to Clarke's side, dipping his hands in moonshine on the way over, but the hardness in his voice didn't escape the Blakes' attention. Octavia stilled, but Bellamy jerked his head toward Mbege.

  
"Help him out, Octavia. I'll see you out there." Monty flipped around.

  
"No. You need to go, Bellamy." Monty's voice had never been so heavy. Clarke muttered something small and husky and Bellamy's heartbeat pounded in his fingertips. He wanted to fix her blankets, hold her hand, bring her water, anything. His blood thumped achingly in his muscles. Monty put his hands on Bellamy's shoulders. "Now."

  
Bellamy threw off the smaller man's grip and stalked toward the door. He slammed it shut and bolted it.

  
"Tell me what she needs, Monty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry took so long to update. This was fun to write though. If there are any one-shots (or longer fics, who knows) you think would work well for Bellarke, feel free to comment and maybe I'll write them. I need more ideas anyway. Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Fever (II)

Clarke drifted in a boiling sea, surfacing for moments at a time before her consciousness dropped back into the oblivion of heat. But worse even than this was the line of pain that started at her mouth and ended in the pit of her stomach, dry and crackling. Thoughts seemed to enter her mind with difficulty, moving through her neurons with a slowness that left her nauseous. _She wanted- something. What was it she wanted?_ And then, before she could remember, another crack was sent up from her stomach and her throat was shuddering as she coughed.

The sound of Clarke's coughing was like hearing a rainstorm die. A coldness that Bellamy recognized as fear- recognized from a long time ago, from hundreds of miles above them- drenched his whole body. It was a pepperminted menthol cold with an edge of something else, a helplessness that Bellamy resented. Everything had been _fine_. _She_  had been fine. He had been in control.

  
"Roll her on her side! Left side!" Monty shouted from where he was sterilizing something or other. His words shocked Bellamy into action, and he did as told. As she heaved, more spatters of blood landed on the medbay blankets.

  
"She's coughing up blood, Monty." Clarke faded out of it again as Monty reappeared by Bellamy's side with two long white cloths. The biting stink of Jasper's moonshine hit Bellamy's nostrils.

  
"Tie this around your face. I- I don't know what she has, but this kind of coughing-"

  
"Contagious?" Bellamy took a guess that was confirmed by Monty's grimace.

  
"I told you to get out."

  
"Did you think I would?" The smaller man sighed from underneath his new surgical mask. He might have been about to reply but Clarke let out a long, husky breath. Bellamy could see her abdominal muscles trembling after coughing so hard. "Bellamy, check her lucidity and give her fluids. I need to find a thermometer in here. There must be some leftover tech that'll work." He gestured to the dropship they were currently quarantined in. Bellamy nodded and crouched, pulling up a stool. He carefully pulled Clarke's hair out of her face and stutteringly patted her cheek. This girl, this firecracker firebrand, had seemingly been put out.

  
"Come on, Clarke. Can you look at me? Can you say something?" He muttered softly, not wanting to startle her. She groaned from somewhere below her vocal cords and he could see the pain smart on her face. "Okay, okay, don't try to talk. Just, if you can hear me and you're-" he floundered for a word- "awake, give me a sign."

Clarke's body shook under the blankets as she clenched her eyes shut. Then a tiny, burning hand crawled out from underneath and wrapped itself around Bellamy's. It was almost enough to bring a smile to his face.

"That's great. Great." Her eyes, which had been firmly shut, dragged open to meet his in an attempt to communicate. All Bellamy could see in them was fear, its coldness a stark contrast to the fever that ravaged the rest of her body. Bellamy's face creased, his eyes suddenly feeling eons older. How could he function without Clarke? How could any of them function?

  
"Raven. I need Raven." Monty was breathless. Bellamy jerked his head to the dropship door, which was still bolted. The pair of impromptu doctors hadn't heard anything from outside yet, but no doubt the rumor had reached most of the camp by now. Monty set his jaw and pounded on the door. "Raven!" He shouted. "Raven!" A smaller voice ricocheted through the metal.

  
"I'm here, Monty." Her voice had the same urgency in it. "Is- is she okay? Do you need help?"

  
"Raven, I need a thermometer. Where in here can I find a thermometer that wasn't busted in the crash?"

  
"Third combustion engine from the main fuel tank. I noticed it earlier. It's alcohol, not mercury, but I don't know if it's welded down or if you can-"

  
"Thanks." Monty ran to the hatch that led to the engine area and descended, leaving Bellamy alone to listen to Clarke's shuddering breaths and wait for her next coughing fit. He clutched her hand as she lay there and pressed his wrist to her forehead. Hot. _Really_ hot. Bellamy remembered a time when Octavia had been the one in bed, and there had been no thermometer but his own wrist. When she was two and he thought she had pneumonia- that had been the most terrifying few weeks of his life.

  
"Is it there?" He called down the open hatch door.

 

"Yes, but I think it's-" Monty paused, and for the first time, ever, Bellamy heard him swear. "Thank god. I can screw it out."

  
"Do it quick." While Monty worked, Bellamy did his best to pour some water down Clarke's throat. He could see it burned as it went, no doubt finding the raw edges and wounds that the coughing had opened. But she swallowed despite the pain. His brows pulled together and he felt tears flush behind his eyes. "Clarke." He whispered to her now, hoping she could hear him and also hoping she couldn't. "I wish you could help me right now." He almost chuckled. "I'm no nurse. I don't know what any of this means." Absentmindedly, he stroked her cheek- and was shocked, again, by its heat. "How'd it get this bad this fast?" He couldn't keep the twitch of desperation from his voice. "You're making me wish I had read Robbins' _Path_ ology instead of Bulfinch's _Myth_ ology." Without warning, Monty popped up, clutching something in his fist.

  
"Got it." He darted to Clarke and squinted before tucking the rod in her mouth. The thirty seconds passed achingly slow, and Bellamy counted in his head- Mississippis and all- before gently removing it. When he saw the number, the blood left his fingertips.

  
"It's 104."

  
"What? Let me see that." Monty took the thermometer quickly. "Oh my God. She should be hallucinating at that temperature." Bellamy glanced quickly to her closed eyes.

  
"What's to say she isn't?"

  
"Okay, we need to- we need to-" Monty took a breath. "We need cold water. And lots of it. Ice." He ripped the bedclothes off of Clarke and she groaned.

  
"I thought you said we had to keep her covered!" Bellamy went to gather the blankets but Monty shook his head.

  
"Not at 104, we don't." He pounded on the door again. "Hey! Somebody!"

  
"Monty." Bellamy couldn't place who spoke from outside. "What's going on in there?"

  
"We need cold water. And lots of it. Enough to fill a bathtub. Ice, if there's any left on the river."

  
"To fill a bathtub?"

  
"As much as you can get. Now."

 

Against all odds, enough buckets of cold water were passed through the smallest crack possible in the dropship door to fill a crate lined with a tarp. Bellamy never left Clarke, keeping an eye on her and monitoring her temperature as often as possible, but he could feel the attention of the entire camp focused on the dropship. The rumble of footsteps and shouts sounded on all sides and occasionally a familiar voice rang out. Selfishly, Bellamy hoped Octavia was far away. If whatever this was turned out to be as contagious as Monty feared, he'd prefer her to run off with that grounder so long as she was out of its reach. Monty panted underneath his makeshift surgical mask, sweating nearly as much as Clarke.

  
"Okay, Bellamy, help me get her in here." She released a long, blood-soaked breath as he lifted her away from the sheets, her skin sticking to his and every inch of her body radiating those 104 degrees. Her eyelids fluttered and the blue behind them rolled.

  
"Hot." She managed to force out one quiet word, almost nothing more than a breath.

  
"We know. We're gonna cool you off." Her head fell to his chest and he slowly, with more delicacy than Monty had ever seen in the huge man, slid her into the water. She hissed at the temperature change. Monty threw a blanket over the tub, leaving just her head exposed. He knelt.

  
"Clarke, can you undress under there?"

  
"Monty, what the-"

  
"She needs as much contact with the cold as possible," Monty hissed. "I'd prefer she accidentally flash some skin than cook from the inside out." Clarke nodded feebly and shifted, throwing an elbow over the side. Bellamy turned away, even though she was under a sheet. God, if only Octavia could be here to help. The whole thing was maddening.

  
"Why'd you tell me to keep her covered, hm?" Bellamy couldn't hide his anger. If she had stayed under that blanket longer, she might have- he didn't want to think about what might have happened.

  
"Excuse me?"

  
"She didn't want the blankets! For fuck's sake." Clarke groaned quietly from the crate, but Bellamy ignored her.

  
"I didn't know how high her temp was."

  
"You would have if you felt her head. If you used common sense instead of thinking like an engineer." Bellamy put as much poison into his words as possible.

  
"But I'm not an engineer, am I?" Monty retorted. "I'm a teenager. We're all teenagers." He pressed a finger into Bellamy's chest. "Except for you, if I'm correct." The sentiment hit Bellamy like ice water. Monty was right, he knew. Octavia, this camp, this girl, even this tiny seventeen-year-old boy chewing him out- they were all his responsibility now. And he was going to let them down just like he let down Octavia and his mother back on the Ark. He sat, hard.

  
"How long should she stay in there?" Monty turned, accepting the subject change.

  
"Until the water warms. Then we should take her out and put cold cloths on her pulse points." Monty scrubbed his face with his hands. "You're taking the first shift. If her temperature drops or raises dramatically, wake me." With that, he climbed into the second floor of the dropship and left Bellamy alone and frankly, terrified. But he took a breath, steadily, as if his own pattern might be able to convince hers to join it.


End file.
